


Anthropomorphism

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Bandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-09
Updated: 2008-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> They’re on the road when Brendon finds the turtle.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Anthropomorphism

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, [](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/profile)[**disarm_d**](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/) and I were walking the streets of Philadelphia and I came up with a ridiculous idea for a story. And then I wrote it. This is for [](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/profile)[**maleyka**](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/) on her birthday, being not exactly what she wanted but something I hope she’ll enjoy in the meantime while I keep working on the other thing. Thanks to [](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/profile)[**disarm_d**](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/) and [](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/profile)[**adellyna**](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/) for helping me out with it.

They’re on the road when Brendon finds the turtle.

“Ryan,” he says, nudging Ryan’s curtain back to ask him if he’s really going to eat the last of those French crusty pastry things. “Ryan, you…oh.”

Ryan isn’t there. On his bunk, however, looking up at him with what Brendon imagines to be grave interest, is a turtle.

Brendon backs away slowly but leaves the curtain half-open. He searches the rest of the bus, then returns to Ryan’s bunk to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating or anything.

The turtle hasn’t moved much.

Brendon considers picking it up, but some turtles bite, and he’s worried about dropping it by accident. He doesn’t think that Ryan would appreciate Brendon killing his turtle.

He goes out to see Jon and Spencer instead.

Jon is on his back on the floor, contemplating the ceiling. As Brendon watches, he lifts one hand and traces a large looping spiral through the air with one finger. Spencer watches with amusement from the couch. Jon tips his head back far enough to catch Spencer’s eyes and grins.

“Hey, guys?” Brendon says hesitantly, hopping a little from foot to foot the way he does when he’s nervous. “There’s a turtle. Um, in Ryan’s bunk.”

Spencer looks at him blankly. Jon says, “Whoa, dude.”

“In, uh, back there.” Brendon jerks his thumb over his shoulder, and sneaks a glance behind him to make sure that nothing’s changed in the last thirty seconds. He can’t see the turtle from here, but Ryan hasn’t reappeared, so.

“Cool,” Jon says finally.

“Yeah,” Brendon agrees, because turtles are pretty cool, “but, uh, Ryan’s not on the bus anymore.”

Spencer becomes suddenly alert. “You checked the bathroom?” he asks. Brendon nods. Of course he checked the bathroom. He checked everywhere.

“But he left us a turtle?” Jon asks.

Brendon spreads his hands and says, “I don’t know.”

“I’m calling him,” Spencer says, phone already pressed to his ear. After a few seconds they hear a tinny samba beat coming from the direction of the bunks, the ringtone Ryan insists on using for its ‘Caribbean flair.’

Spencer frowns and gets up. Brendon follows him back and sees him pluck a pair of Ryan’s vintage slacks from the rumpled bedding, shaking them out until Ryan’s cell falls free onto the bunk.

“Fuck,” Spencer says. “Maybe he left it behind.”

Brendon personally thinks this is highly unlikely, but then there don’t seem to be any other particularly good alternatives. So far as they know, Ryan hasn’t been kidnapped or teleported or trapped on the roof without his pants.

“Well, he didn’t just disappear,” Spencer says, like he’s reading Brendon’s mind.

“Maybe he went to get his turtle some food or something?” Brendon suggests, but it’s just about the lamest possible thing he could come up with. Spencer’s look at him, surprisingly, is less than appropriately withering.

“The bus is moving,” Spencer points out, which, okay, Brendon knew that. He’s just trying to come up with helpful hypotheses.

He looks back at Ryan’s bunk, where the turtle continues to sit (stand? lounge? sprawl?) placidly on top of one of Ryan’s patterned shirts. It’s pink paisley. It’s probably getting wrinkled, but that’s hardly the biggest of their problems right now.

“I didn’t know Ryan had a turtle,” Brendon says.

“Neither did I,” Spencer says. He eyes the turtle speculatively.

There’s a belt still threaded through Ryan’s slacks that matches the exact shade of the turtle’s shell. “Huh,” Brendon says, mostly to himself.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe we should take it out and give it some food,” Brendon suggests. “And then we can check Ryan’s bunk, see if he left a note or anything.”

“Right,” Spencer says. He looks at Brendon like he’s waiting for something. Brendon blinks back at him. Spencer raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, okay, sure,” Brendon says, although he was really hoping Spencer would want to do this part. He reaches in carefully and wraps both hands around the turtle’s shell, getting his fingers tucked in under its belly. He moves slowly, and the turtle thankfully doesn’t try to bite him. When he picks it up, its little legs dangle in the air.

“Come on, little buddy,” Brendon says reassuringly, stepping around Spencer to bring the turtle out into the lounge.

Jon sits up when he enters, eyes wide, and says, “Whoa. Dude, turtle.”

Brendon sets the turtle gently down in the center of the room where it won’t be able to fall and they’ll be able to keep an eye on it. He doesn’t think their bus is exactly turtle-proofed, but then this one doesn’t look like it will be going anywhere fast, so it should be fine.

“What do turtles eat?” Brendon asks, poking through the fridge. They’re not really big on fruits and vegetables as a band, although there’s a Ziploc full of red peppers that Jon took along from their last interview.

“Lettuce?” Jon suggests. “Tomatoes?”

“Maybe we can stop and get some stuff for it,” Brendon suggests. He looks through the crisper drawer just in case, but it doesn’t look like Ryan’s stashed any turtle food in there.

“There’s that cheeseburger from last night,” Jon says. “I think it’s still in the fridge.”

Brendon finds the box and eyes the burger doubtfully, but it’s better than anything else they have. He peels the top of the bun off and drops the lettuce and tomato onto a paper towel.

“Maybe we should get it some water, too,” he says. He’s not sure what to use as a dish. There’s a glass ashtray in the cupboard, unused, so he pulls that out and fills it from the tap.

Spencer comes back out while they’re trying to coax the turtle to drink. “Come on,” Jon urges, nudging the dish closer. “Come on, turtle.”

“We should give it a name,” Brendon says, watching the turtle’s aloof disregard for the ashtray. “We can’t just keep calling it turtle.”

“It probably already has a name,” Jon points out. “We just don’t know what it is.”

“What, like a Jellicle Turtle?” Brendon suggests. It’s kind of a cool idea. He wonders if the turtle’s name is really Skimbleshell or something.

Spencer snorts. “No, like Ryan probably already named it.” He sits back down on the couch, watching Jon’s battle of wills with the turtle. “There’s nothing in his bunk. Maybe he just got off the bus and got lost or something.”

‘Without his pants?’ Brendon wants to ask, but he doesn’t. He wonders how long it would take Ryan to remember any of their phone numbers without the use of speed dial, and whether he’ll be able to figure out how to use a pay phone.

“Hey,” Jon says. “Remember when we did that peyote thing with Gabe, at the bonfire, and discovered our spirit animals?”

“Yes,” Brendon says immediately, because that was _awesome._ His had been a horse. He’d really wanted something more exotic, like a lemur or a tiger, but a horse was still pretty cool. Jon’s had been a dormouse.

Ryan’s, he remembers suddenly, had been…

“Oh wow,” he says, startled. “Do you think he went out and got one because of that?”

Spencer frowns. “I don’t think this is his actual spirit animal, Brendon,” he says, which is not what Brendon had been saying at all.

“Are you Ryan’s spirit animal?” Jon asks the turtle seriously, and Brendon laughs. Spencer rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too.

“O spirit guide,” Brendon says, resting his hand on the floor near the turtle. “Can you tell us where Ryan is?”

The turtle swings its head around and looks at him. Brendon is briefly speechless.

“Wow,” he says finally. “Okay, that’s kind of freaky.”

“It doesn’t understand you,” Spencer tells him. “You’re just making a lot of noise.”

“Your mom makes a lot of noise,” Brendon says automatically. The turtle is still looking at him. It kind of has Ryan’s eyes.

“Hey, guys,” he says hesitantly. “Do you think…?”

“We should call Zack,” Spencer says, in a tone that sounds like agreement. Brendon nods, pretending that’s what he’d been about to say, and not, ‘doesn’t this turtle remind you a little of Ryan?’

Spencer goes off to call Zack and check Ryan’s wallet, which is also in the pants in his bunk, leaving Jon and Brendon with the task of turtle-sitting.

“I don’t think turtles would make very good pets,” Brendon says after a few minutes, during which the turtle does absolutely nothing.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jon says, mellow. “It could depend on the person. It might make a good pet for Ryan.”

“Yeah,” Brendon admits. “It’s sort of…low-key. Like Ryan, you know? Maybe he finds it relaxing.”

Jon starts laughing, rolling onto his belly. “It is kind of like him, dude,” he says. “It’s like, cool yet awkward. With weird taste in clothing.”

“And they move at about the same pace,” Brendon agrees, grinning. “It even has his eyes.”

Jon stops laughing, expression turning slightly perplexed. “It does, doesn’t it?” he says.

They both sit there in silence for a minute, and then Jon reaches out a finger and says tentatively, “Ryan?”

The turtle slowly swings its head around to look at Jon. Brendon and Jon both stare at it in horror and amazement.

“Oh my god,” Brendon says, and then gives himself a reality check, because seriously. _Seriously._ “Ryan is not a turtle,” he says out loud. It sounds perfectly sane and reasonable, but he can’t help the tiny note of doubt lacing his tone.

Jon’s still looking at the turtle speculatively. “We could give it tests,” he suggests. “Just to be sure.”

Brendon claps one hand over his mouth so that he doesn’t laugh hysterically. He finally drops it a few inches and says, “Seriously?”

“What?” Spencer asks from behind them, and Brendon whips around so fast he nearly strains his neck. “Nothing,” he says, and then, “Jon thinks the turtle might be Ryan.”

Spencer looks at them both like he can’t believe they’ve managed to survive into adulthood.

“I just said we should be sure,” Jon says mildly. Jon’s much less put off by Spencer’s disapproval than Brendon is. He can’t help quailing.

“How?” Spencer asks sarcastically, and okay, he does have a point.

“Do you think he can understand us like this?” Brendon asks hesitantly. It’s not that he actually believes Ryan is a turtle. He’s just considering all of the options.

“No,” Spencer says firmly. “Because it’s a _turtle._ ”

“Here, wait,” Jon says. “Okay, if you’re Ryan, look at me.”

The turtle is already looking at Jon. It doesn’t look away, but that doesn’t really prove anything, either.

“Wait,” Brendon says. He scrambles up to retrieve the paper towel with the vegetables on it and sets it down on the floor, putting the lettuce and tomato at separate ends. “If you’re Ryan,” he says slowly and clearly, “walk towards the lettuce.”

The turtle takes one slow, ponderous step towards the paper towel. It stops, while they all hold their breath watching, and then takes another. There’s a definite skew towards the lettuce in its projected trajectory.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Spencer says. Brendon’s not sure whether he means the two of them or the fact that his best friend might possible have turned into a turtle.

“It really is just like him,” Jon says fondly. The turtle – Ryan – reaches the lettuce and takes a distinctly matter-of-fact chomp out of it.

“It’s a turtle,” Spencer says flatly, but Brendon can hear the doubt starting to creep in.

“Hey, Spence,” Jon says thoughtfully. “Does Ryan have a birthmark on his…uh…tail?”

Spencer just stares at him. Brendon looks covertly for the nearest shelter, should he and Ryan have to make a break for cover.

“There’s this little mark here, see?” Jon continues.

“How,” Spencer asks evenly, “would I know if Ryan has a birthmark there?”

“Well, there are all of those pictures of you two naked together,” Brendon feels obliged to point out.

“I was _five_ ,” Spencer grits out.

“Right,” Jon says doubtfully. Spencer’s ears turn an interesting shade of hot pink. Brendon decides it’s time to move on from the questionably-placed birthmark.

“Hey, do you think,” he begins, gesticulating a bit, “I mean, is there any way for us to get a message?”

Spencer looks at him as if until now, he hadn’t truly realized how much of an idiot Brendon was. “Yes,” he says steadily. “Because turtles can write letters, even when they can’t speak.”

“What if we got him to spell something?” Jon offers. “I think Ryan has Travel Scrabble.”

Brendon thinks Spencer might actually be struck speechless. What the hell, though, it’s not like they have many other options. “I’ll get it,” he says, and scrambles into the back.

Spencer is sitting on the couch when Brendon gets back, arms crossed over his chest. Brendon dumps the tiles out and tries not to feel like too much of a moron.

“Did you get hold of Zack?” Brendon asks while Jon arranges the letters to give Ryan a good selection.

“Voicemail,” Spencer answers shortly. “Seriously, guys.”

“It’s just passing the time,” Jon says easily. He finishes spreading out the tiles and says, “Okay, they’re all yours.”

Ryan tears off another strip of lettuce and chews slowly. He pauses, motionless, and then makes a move on the slice of tomato. Brendon isn’t sure what that means. He definitely doesn’t seem too interested in the Scrabble tiles.

Brendon’s about to give up and suggest they call Zack again when Jon crows triumphantly. “His foot hit the ‘R’,” he says. “Did you see that? He went right for it.”

“It was between him and the tomato,” Spencer points out. Brendon feels that this is a valid point, but even so. He did hit the ‘R’ with his foot. He practically stepped right on it.

“So, uh,” Brendon says, clearing his throat. “Anyone have any ideas on how to change him back?”

There’s a distressingly long silence. Finally Jon says, “Voodoo?”

“Oh my god,” Spencer says again. “ _No._ ”

Brendon says, “I think we should ask Zack.” Zack is amazingly good at making things happen the way he wants them to. If anyone would know what to do, it’s Zack.

“One of us could kiss him,” Jon muses. “Like the frog prince.”

“The turtle prince?” Brendon asks doubtfully.

“Right,” Spencer says. “Because that will work.”

“You never know until you try,” Jon tells him.

“I think Jon should do it,” Brendon says quickly, because he’s still not sure that turtles don’t bite. Even turtles that might be Ryan. Maybe especially turtles that might be Ryan.

“I think…” Spencer begins, only to be cut off by Jon shushing him. Spencer stares at Jon blankly and finally says, “What?”

Jon gestures at Ryan. “I think he’s sleeping.”

Ryan blinks very slowly. His head bobs a little. He looks so much like Ryan when he’s falling asleep that Brendon’s chest clenches a little bit.

“For fuck’s sake,” Spencer says, but he sounds tired. Brendon thinks the annoyance is probably really to mask how worried he is about Ryan.

“I’ll take him back to his bunk,” Brendon offers. He’s standing with one hand on Ryan’s shell when the bus brakes, and Brendon staggers to the side, desperately avoiding a misstep on top of Ryan.

“Are you okay?” Jon asks. Brendon isn’t sure who he means, him or Ryan.

“Shit, sorry,” he babbles apologetically. Ryan’s on his back on the floor, flipped over when Brendon lost his footing, his stumpy legs waving frantically in the air. “Sorry, Ryan, sorry.”

“Careful,” Spencer orders, and there’s actual fear in his voice, so Brendon thinks maybe he’s starting to be convinced in spite of himself.

Brendon reassuringly talks Ryan over onto his feet again, getting him the right way up and cradling him carefully against his hoodie. It feels a little ridiculous and maybe even too intimate, but it’s the safest way to travel.

“Here, give him to me,” Jon offers. “We can nap on the couch.” He already has a spliff in one hand, lighting up, but he lies down on his back and pats his tummy accommodatingly.

Brendon hesitates, but Jon is an ace person to nap with, and Ryan is starting to bat at Brendon’s chest impatiently. He sets Ryan down on Jon’s belly, on top of Ryan’s coat which Jon retrieves to make a sort of nest for him.

Jon blows smoke towards the ceiling and shakes his head sadly at Ryan. “I’d share if I could,” he says, “but I’m not sure how you’d inhale.”

“You’re not getting a turtle high,” Spencer says wearily.

It’s probably animal cruelty, Brendon thinks, but then this isn’t just an ordinary turtle, this is _Ryan_. “He could shotgun,” he suggests.

Jon’s rubbing the turtle’s shell, inhaling thoughtfully. “I like your new look,” he tells Ryan, and then squints for a second.

“Jon, don’t…” Spencer begins, but Jon just lets out his breath, gusting smoke in a swirl around Ryan’s small head. Spencer sighs, crossing his arms.

Brendon makes gimme hands for the spliff, passing it back after he takes a hit. “Do you think he’s getting any?” he asks, holding the smoke in for as long as he can before exhaling.

“He looks a little loose,” Jon decides, eyeing Ryan critically. “And after the day he’s had, he deserves it.”

“What with turning into a turtle and all,” Brendon agrees solemnly. Ryan does look more relaxed. “Dude, his eyes are pretty big. And he’s moving slow.”

“Dude, he’s a turtle,” Jon points out.

“Dude, I’m just saying. He has less body mass now.”

“Dude,” Jon says. “It’s Ryan.”

It’s a good point. Brendon wonders idly if all of Ryan is turtle-sized now, or if he’s still Ryan-proportioned. He thinks Ryan would make the lady turtles very happy. Then he thinks he’d better not say that out loud where Ryan can hear him, and takes another hit.

Ryan leans forward a little, stretching out his neck from his perch on Jon’s rounded belly. Jon blows a gentle stream of smoke towards him, and Ryan’s head wobbles a little.

“Please don’t kill him,” Spencer says. “Please.”

“Chill, it’s fine,” Jon promises. Ryan rests his head on Jon’s belly and closes his eyes. Jon smiles fondly and makes a little cooing noise at him.

The bus moves again, with the familiar sway of pulling onto an exit and slowing down. “Maybe we should take him out and give him some fresh air,” Spencer suggests.

Jon’s hand curls protectively over Ryan’s shell. He looks somewhere between hurt and horrified.

“He’s safer here,” Brendon agrees. “We’ll take care of him.”

Spencer rolls his eyes and pulls on his shoes. “I’m going to go over to the other bus and talk to Zack,” he tells Brendon. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay, sure,” Brendon agrees. He wraps his arms around himself for comfort. Privately, even though he believes in Zack, he’s not sure what can be done. People don’t turn into turtles every day, not even strange ones like Ryan Ross.

Jon looks solemn as well. Brendon thinks he might be thinking the same thing.

Spencer’s only been gone for a few minutes before they hear voices approaching. Brendon hops up when the bus door opens, and Spencer comes in, followed by…

“Ryan?” Jon asks, sounding surprised.

“You’re not a turtle,” Brendon says dumbly. He wants to go give Ryan a hug, but Ryan is staring at him suspiciously right now, so he holds himself back. “I mean, uh, hey. Where were you?”

“On the other bus with Zack and Eric,” Ryan says, looking at the two of them in a weird but not particularly turtle-like way. “Why?”

“We were just worried,” Brendon explains lamely. “You, um, forgot your phone.”

“I know,” Ryan says. “That’s why I came back.”

He frowns at Brendon first, and then at Jon on the couch with the turtle on his belly. Jon has his hand on the turtle’s shell and is wearing a mournful expression.

Spencer gives them a look as if to say that as long as they keep their mouths shut, he won’t tell Ryan how incredibly foolish they were just acting. Brendon appreciates that.

“So,” Ryan says finally. “What’s with the turtle?”

*

 _Epilogue_

“But what I don’t understand is,” Brendon whispers earnestly, “where did the turtle _come_ from?”

Jon nods, looking deeply contemplative, although that could also be the pot.

Spencer bites his lip and turns away so they won’t see him smile.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Anthromorphism](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753581) by [miss_marina95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_marina95/pseuds/miss_marina95)




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